X-Family

"You know that I'm fighting with you," I stated as dad sat collapsed on the couch, face in his hands, as he nodded. It was true. No matter what my mom said, I'd fight. Sure, we could completely ignore the fact that ever since I was four I've been learning how to fight, and then yeah, I'd be completely defenseless. But I wasn't. Dad had made damn sure of that, and he was too proud of me to make me have any doubt in my fighting skills. I wasn't a registered X-Men, but I was as close as it gets to being on the team.

"Yeah, I know," Dad muttered, running his hands through his hair. Sitting next to him, I gently grabbed his hands, waiting until he looked at me to speak.\

"I'm not going to get hurt, Dad. I can handle myself. If," I held up my hand as he went to speak out, watching as anger grew in his eyes of someone hurting his daughter; it made me feel safe. "If I do, you and mom have full permission to run me through." At this he grinned, nodding as if it was his idea.

"You bet I will, darlin'," he said, kissing my forehead before following mom off to sleep.

--

Dad left. It wasn't one of those, "I'll see you in a hour or two," things. No, this was one of those, "I'll be back when I'm back, and hopefully in one piece so I can hug you on my return," things. This was a real, honest to God, terrifying mission, and mom wasn't doing very well.
It was almost like the bottle of vodka was glued to her hand; never absent, she was drunk most of the first week. And the second week. And the third week. By the time a month was rolling around and we hadn't heard a word, I felt like my heart was going to explode.

Sure, I had heard about dad running off for lengths of time, trying to find himself out there, but I knew he wouldn't do that to us. We were home; we were where he belonged. He had to come home. He just had to. And he did.

After another week had passed, we heard the unmistakable sound of the X-Jet flying through the stale air, and mom and I made haste to the hanger so we could see dad. When we saw him, though, my heart stopped.

Now, my dad has an amazing healing factor. In under five minutes, he can heal a point blank head shot and be perfectly fine. But he can't heal multiple wounds with nothing to show for it. He was limping, one of his arms thrown over Storm's shoulders as he stared at my mom with one of the most loving looks I had ever seen in his eyes.

The first moment someone had laid a hand against my father was the moment that it was shown that I'd be one of the fighters in this war.